


broken windows, one way mirrors

by ircnman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Maria Stark's Good Parenting, Natasha and Tony bond over their russian heritage and all is well, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, russian tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ircnman/pseuds/ircnman
Summary: Because, of course, complete heterochromia iridis is a common abnormality found in point-six-seven percent of the population and Tony Stark justhadto be one of the unlucky bastards to be included in that statistic.





	broken windows, one way mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> if this seems familiar to you at all, that's because you probably have indeed read it before!!! i'm reposting all my old work from when i deleted a couple months ago. 
> 
> because i remade.
> 
> because i have no back bone. 
> 
> anyway, this work is based off of a wonderful piece of art by my beautiful friend tonio which you can find here https://codeflaws.tumblr.com/post/173928698326/were-back-in-business-baby

Tony, truly and honestly, despises how much he looks like Howard.

He always has, and he always will.

It doesn’t help that it's brought up endlessly. In damn near every interview and photoshoot he sits for, journalists and stylists alike make it a point to fawn over Tony’s skin, his hair, his eyes— brown and deep as dark chocolate. As if that’s going to get them in his good books.

_They’re just like your father’s!_ they all say.

It’s constant and harrowing and it’s all Tony can do to grit his teeth and smile, bright and white and so very fake, taking compliment after hollow compliment.

A father compared to a son. 

A man compared to a monster. 

Of course, they don’t know that they’re a soft spot, his eyes. 

A button he wished people would avoid pushing. 

Because, of course, complete heterochromia iridis is a common abnormality found in point-six-seven percent of the population and Tony Stark just _had_ to be one of the unlucky bastards to be included in that statistic.

Howard had called the trait freakish from the moment he had watched Tony, then Anthony, blink blearily up at him from his crib in the maternity ward. A physical characteristic so strange, so striking was... _unbecoming_ for the heir of Stark Industries.

It just wouldn’t do.

But then, at that point, Tony had merely been an infant, so all he could do was cry, struggling in the nurses grasp as he was placed in the exhausted arms of his mother.  
Howard, jaw clenched in disappointment, (god, not even a year old and already disappointing dad, wasn’t that a chilling foreshadowing of the rest of his life?) only turned away, leaving the hospital room in a huff.

Already, he was formulating solutions to the problem in the back of his mind.

Maria, though.

Maria had never thought it a problem at all.

In fact, she was thrilled to see that some part of her had made it through to Tony’s appearance  
.  
Even as a child, it was easy to see that Tony’s resemblance to Howard was chilling in its similarity. The black hair, so unlike his mother’s striking red; the olive skin, nothing like Maria’s pallor. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have sprung into the world like Athena.

Fully formed from the mind of Howard Stark.

A perfect pawn created to play in the larger game of Stark Industries.

But then, there were small inconsistencies that Maria clung to.

That _Tony_ clung to.

The wild curl of his hair belonged only to his mother, the dark strands falling in hopeless waves across his forehead and around his skull like some kind of thorny halo.  
His stature, so small compared to Howard’s domineering frame, was identical to Maria’s— graceful and lithe and on just the right side of compact.

But his eyes.

Or rather, his eye.

His right one.

Now _that_ Maria could take credit for.

Proudly.

Sitting juxtaposed to the amber and whiskey brown of Howard’s likeness on the left was an iris clear and blue as diamond, the contrasting colors creating a combined gaze that was strange and curious and far too intelligent.

Maria thought they made him look unique.

_You’re a treasure, сокровище. A diamond in the rough._

Tony, her dear Antoshka, was a curiosity in every sense of the word.

Of course, Jarvis didn’t mind the characteristic either. He, in many ways, refused to even acknowledge it, silently reaching the understanding that Howard… _disapproved_ of the odd trait, which meant that it was best for everyone if he kept any words regarding it, positive or otherwise, to himself.

He’d do anything to protect the boy, even if it meant holding back words of endearment that no doubt would make Tony feel more accepted. More loved.

That didn’t mean, however, that Jarvis couldn’t call Master Anthony _calico_ in the privacy of his own mind. At times, the nickname would slip out during the more...trying moments of Anthony’s childhood.

No matter. It was their secret, and theirs alone.

( _It’s a mutation,_ Howard would spit, his regular three glasses of whiskey already brewing in his bloodstream. In those moments, Jarvis couldn’t help but clench his hands into fists, resisting the urge to smack his employer, his mind screaming at him to give the monster of a man in front of him a taste of his own medicine. _The boy isn’t put together right._ )

Caustic and cutting and so very violent.

That was Howard.

And, consistent with his nature, he made Tony hide. Made him cover up one of the only things he had inherited from his mother.

As an infant, Tony was only to be taken out of the house when he was asleep, the hood of the stroller firmly in place whether or not the sun was shining.

By the age of four, Howard had managed to manufacture colored lenses that were long-wear and opaque enough to cover the blue of Tony’s right eye.

(Of course, there was absolutely no possible way lenses could be made to convincingly cover his brown eye. There was no film, no cover in the world that would be able to match that clear crystal of Maria’s.)

So. Brown it was.

Just in time for Tony to build his first circuit board.

Just in time for him to stand in front of the world, wide-eyed and nervous. He’d blinked furiously through the entire press conference, the intrusion of the lens scratching against his eyelids.

And Tony hated them, of course he did. They itched and they made his vision sort of wonky on the right and they dried out if he stared into space too long and _and—_

He looked like Howard.

With the lens in, it was almost like his mother had been erased from his face entirely.

As if she had never been there at all.

Without the blue, Tony’s gaze just looked _burnt._ There were no clear waters to put out the forest fires, no ice to cover the scorched Earth.

And he could’ve thrown the lenses out after the deaths of his parents. He _knows._ But every time his hands reached for the lens case, then for the garbage, his heart would seize and he’d just...stop. 

Removing the lenses seemed like such a small thing.

But it had the potential for opening a _much bigger_ can of worms.

He could see it now, his first press-conference lens free, the journalists waiting with their hands poised in the air as if they weren't already formulating their own theories.  
_Mr. Stark, what’s with the eyes?_

_Were you born with them? Was there an accident?_

_Why did you pretend?_

_Was it Howard?_

_Why did he make you hide?_

_What else did he do?_

_What kind of father was he? ___

___What kind of father was he **really**?_ _ _

__And...yeah. That kind of questioning was unacceptable._ _

__His memories of Howard would go to the grave with him if he had anything to say about it, and if that meant he had to keep this part of himself, this part of his _mother_ kept locked behind the door Howard had slammed in his face at the ripe age of four years old, well._ _

__He’d fucking do it._ _

__Easy as pie._ _

__

__+_ _

__

__Keeping the trait locked up was, apparently, much harder than Tony thought it could be, even though he’d been doing it for the past thirty years._ _

__But, then again, he hadn’t been living as a superhero and working with a bunch of _fucking super spy people_ for twenty-nine of those, so...c’est la vie.  
It’s Natasha who finds out first, and that’s before Tony even knows Natasha is actually _Natasha.__ _

__When they had first met, the effects of the palladium had already been well on their way to making his head spin. More often than not, Tony caught himself rubbing his eyes, disturbing the lens and only adding more discomfort on top of the pain and, well...everything else._ _

__So he said fuck it._ _

__He was already doing the whole secluded-mad-genius-hermit act, might as well be comfortable in his own home._ _

__Besides, Pepper knew and so did Rhodey, and they were the only ones he was going to be seeing._ _

__Until Natalie._ _

__Who he forgets Pepper had hired until she shows up in his workshop four days after he gives Pepper his company._ _

__And, well, maybe it’s what he deserves, getting the shit scared out of him, because he must have been working beneath optimum capacity if he was dumb enough to let her in without even checking. But who else could’ve been checking in?_ _

__It’s not like Tony has many people._ _

__Which means when he feels that tap on his shoulder, rather than hearing Pepper’s normal, weary sigh from the threshold, he spins around so fast he loses his balance, nearly toppling off his stool and landing face first onto one of his projection screens._ _

__Thankfully, Natalie is there to catch him, her small hands wrapping around his biceps in a grip strong enough that it makes Tony pause._ _

__She’s also staring, which._ _

__Rude._ _

__“What’re you looking at, Mount Rushmore?”_ _

__It’s not his best line, but hey, he’s caught off guard. There’s a random woman in his workshop and he knows for a _fact_ that she knocked Happy on his ass the other day and her hair is...her hair is _red.__ _

__It’s not like Pepper’s. The long curls aren’t strawberry or even close to blonde. They’re fire, so bright and striking it _burns.__ _

__In the back of his mind, Tony can just barely hear his mother’s voice, raspy from the cigarettes she used to smoke when she’d take walks through the garden. She would pile her red curls on top of her head on days when she didn’t have to be seen, when she didn’t have to be _Mrs. Stark.__ _

__He remembers her in parts— her hands, white and bony. He remembers her laugh, her smile._ _

__Her _eyes.__ _

___Antoshka,_ she’d say, her light accent like music to his ears, fingers carding through his hair as he walked beside her, and the memory is too vivid, too real and it _aches,_ just like his chest—_ _

__And there he is again, back in his workshop, all alone with the memory of red hair and blue eyes sinking slow and steady into his bones._ _

__To her credit, Natalie seems to disregard the fact that Tony is in the midst of an existential and grief filled break down and simply blinks, slowly moving her hands away from his arms when she sees that he’s stable again._ _

__“Your eyes. They’re different,” she says, cocking her head to the side, her gaze just on the wrong side of cutting and Tony finds himself, not for the first time, wondering just what the hell they teach kids at Ivy leagues these days._ _

__He finds himself smiling back at her despite his discomfort (because that’s what he was raised to do, goddammit, he’s had enough practice), swallowing to buy himself time. He can practically feel Natalie’s gaze burning itself into the front of his face, but he just clears his throat as a way to assure that his voice can come out strong and suave and not at all panicked, no sir._ _

__“Different, yeah. That's a pretty nice synonym for freakish, so I’ll take it,” he says, grinning again, and he can almost hear the _clickclickclick_ of her mind whirring away, trying to put the pieces together._ _

__He’s already bracing himself for the inevitable questions, for the _why do you hide it?_ and the subsequent pitying gaze that he knows will follow._ _

__Instead, he’s just met with silence while Natalie looks at his face for a long, drawn out moment._ _

__She nods once, as if deciding something, and then time starts again as she steps away, shifting the folders from under her arm to the front of her body._ _

__“Ms. Potts has requested your signature on a few forms regarding your most recent patents.”_ _

__Tony nods, letting himself close his (strange and jarring and _weird_ but goddammit they’re _his,_ his and Maria’s) eyes, taking a deep breath.  
As he gets back to work, pulling out a pen to sign a few of the patent release forms, it’s almost like nothing happened at all._ _

__

__+_ _

__

__It’s only when he’s sitting in a donut shop across from Captain Hook and the itsy bitsy spider, (Natalie, Natasha, _Natalia_ ), that he realizes something definitely did._ _

__Happen, that is._ _

__Suddenly, that hard, analytical gaze and steel bond grip makes a lot more sense._ _

__He wonders if she’s told Fury. If his eyes have, somehow, revealed some deep, hidden, psychological truth that they can use to manipulate him._ _

__She probably has. It’s her job to tattle, after all._ _

__And, with the luck Tony has, what else can he expect, really._ _

__But then he’s being carted back to his mansion and Fury is lecturing him on Howard and his strange but effective parenting methods, acting like a reel of film and an offhand remark about Tony being his greatest creation is enough to wipe away decades of abuse and neglect, as if that is the motivation he'll be able to use to fix himself, and he realizes _oh.__ _

__She didn’t say a word._ _

__Either that or she’s the worst spy in the world— one who can’t make an educated guess to save her life._ _

__Somehow, he doubts it’s the latter._ _

__He sees her again, after the lithium dioxide and Hammer and Vanko and the nuclear explosion that is the Expo._ _

__Her hair, practically fluorescent in the crumbling stage lights, acts as a beacon amongst the wreckage._ _

___His eyes meet hers just as she’s stepping towards a van that, upon closer inspection, has a matte black SHIELD logo emblazoned on the dark gloss of the exterior._  
For a moment she pauses, and Tony feels frozen in his suit. Then, in a deliberate motion, she winks at him (because he’s learned now that Natalie, Natasha, the Black Widow is nothing but deliberate), and it's with her right eye, that sly fucker. Her mouth curls up with the smallest hint of a smile as she turns and gets into the van.  
Tony doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back until Pepper asks him about it, minutes after the rest of the SHIELD lackies have left, his own mind whirling away. 

__

__+_ _

__

__After the Chitauri, after gods and monsters and Captain fucking America, after he dies (again) and comes back to life, they cross paths once more._ _

__And it may or may not be because he’s inviting her and the rest of their little ragtag group of misfits to move in._ _

__Well. Tony’s never been one for impulse control._ _

__He’s begun to make friends out of each of the newly formed Avengers, even Rogers, _Steve,_ despite their rocky start, but he’s known Natasha the longest out of all of them. She’d been there when he was dying, when he was outrageous and expressing symptoms of textbook narcissism as she so eloquently put it, and she’d looked him dead in the eyes, sans lenses, and hadn’t said a word._ _

__So._ _

__That had to count for something._ _

__Their tentative friendship starts slowly. It’s a fragile thing they’ve got going; stolen moments at three in the morning with tea and sleep-swollen eyes.  
Sometimes they play chess, sometimes they watch infomercials until it feels like their brains will leak from their ears, and other times, they speak._ _

__Always, _always_ in Russian._ _

__It’s like a breath of fresh air for Tony to practice the language again. The words are second nature for Natasha, as easy as breathing, but it’s been far too long since Tony has gotten the opportunity to ramble on in the language he learned at the knee of his mother._ _

__They usually talk about menial things; the new products in line for release at SI, Natasha’s new temporary position as a SHIELD trainer between assignments, what they’ll have for breakfast when it gets to be a more reasonable hour._ _

__It’s four months into their little song and dance routine when Natasha brings it up again._ _

__They’re out on the balcony, the summer sky dark but gradually lightening as the sun starts its trek towards daytime. Tony can hear pigeons cooing, though he has no idea where they could be perched, and he has a cup of coffee clutched in his left hand while his right rubs at his eyes. He’d redesigned the lenses to be wearable for up to 48 hours and sleep safe, but that sure as hell didn’t mean they were comfortable after that long._ _

__Tony can feel Natasha watching, can feel the weight of her steady gaze as she blows smoke rings up and away from their place on the terrace. Smoking is filthy, and he tells her so every time she lights up in his presence, but he's always sure to never overstep his bounds. He knows it isn't habitual._ _

__It's just something to calm the nerves when things in the brain slipped passed the iron doors of repressionrepressiondenial._ _

__Which means the nightmares must have been brutal tonight._ _

__He feels more than hears Natasha shift to break the silence, the scratch of her linen pants against the chair loud in the stillness._ _

__“You don’t have to wear them anymore, you know.”_ _

__Tony tilts his head up, letting it rest against the back of his seat as he glances over to where Natasha is sitting. She’s staring straight at him, because she’s never been one for avoidance in all the time Tony has known her. Though, he has to question whether he actually knows her at all._ _

__So he uses this opening as an opportunity for investigation and experimentation._ _

__What kind of person is Natalia Romanova?_ _

__“Wear what?”_ _

__“The lenses,” Natasha replies immediately. She waves the hand holding the cigarette dismissively, the cherry flaring bright for a brief second as ash falls from the end. “Or lens, since it’s just the one eye, I assume. I already know. You don’t have to keep up the charade,” she finishes, tapping her finger against the filter as she draws the cigarette back to her lips._ _

__“And I’m sure the rest of the team wouldn’t mind if you decided to stop pretending, either.”_ _

__Tony watches her inhale, the navy of the too-early morning casting her face in muted shadow, hair shining bright despite the darkness._ _

__As smoke pours from her lips on her exhale, Tony tries to imagine her as a dragon, cunning and dangerous as she guards her treasure. Instead, his mind conjures images of gardenia and silk, pearls and vodka, and the words are out of his mouth before he even realizes he’s forming them._ _

__“My mother had blue eyes.”_ _

__He can feel Natasha’s gaze on him again, even as he looks out over the skyline, his fingers itching for a cigarette of his own and not for the first time, he curses the device in his chest for taking away another vice of his._ _

__“Her name was Maria. Mar’ya. But I’m sure you knew that,” he says. Taking a deep breath in, he turns to meet Natasha’s eyes, letting his mouth tilt upwards in some half-assed imitation of a smirk._ _

__When he takes in the carefully blank features of the redhead across from him, he lets it melt into something a little more genuine, a little more painful._ _

__He goes lax, head falling back to rest once more against the back of his chair, and he reaches up with his right hand, easily placing his fingers along the edges of his iris, not flinching even as he feels the flexible screen lift up off his eye for the first time in what feels like forever._ _

__He tosses it aside carelessly, because God knows he has a million more in his workshop, finally relaxing himself against the cool metal, breathing in the Manhattan smog.  
Tony feels his eyes slide shut of their own accord, even as he rolls his head in the direction of where he knows Natasha is still sitting, observing._ _

__Peaking open his right eye, letting the blue iris catch the light, Tony smiles, bright and wide and grieving, and says, “She would have liked you. All of you.”_ _

__He watches, heart beating quickly behind his ribs, as Natasha’s face transforms, her mouth curving upwards to form a smile of her own, real and sad and so achingly honest._ _

__Without a word, she puts out her cigarette on the railing of the balcony, uncurling herself from her place on the chair, letting the soles of her feet meet cold concrete floor. She stretches as she stands, twisting from side to side before striding towards Tony, reaching a hand down to rest on the top of his head, her fingers tangling their way into his curls._ _

__She runs her hand through his hair once, twice, the sensation familiar and new at the same time, and Tony lets himself wonder, an emotion not unlike elation threatening to build in his chest, if this is what family feels like._ _

__“Спасибо, Antoshka,” he hears her whisper as she leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his forehead. She ruffles his hair once more, leaving it a mess, and Tony can only imagine what Howard would do if he could see now what his boy has become, wearing his mother’s riot of curls and diamond eye out in the company of another.  
The knowledge that he will never have to know first hand leaves him nearly breathless in relief._ _

__He hears Natasha slide the glass door open, hears her step past the threshold and back into the tower he and his new friends, his new family, call home and almost misses her parting words to the whirling of his thoughts, her voice a comforting rasp over the sounds of traffic and early morning._ _

__“Спокойной ночи, Брат,” he hears her say and he smiles, staring out over the city, thinking of all the questions he’ll dodge the next time he leaves the house, lens free.  
It’s time the world realizes that he only ever belonged to his mother._ _

__And it’s time for his new family to have every piece of him, including what he was told to hide._ _

__Feeling Natasha’s gaze on his back (green, clear, sharp as a tack. After all, aren’t eyes windows to the soul?), Tony lets himself think of his mother and her eyes, of ice over scorched earth, of water putting out fire._ _

__Without looking up from the skyline, Tony finally replies, the Russian falling from his mouth easy as breathing._ _

__“Спокойной ночи, сестра.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @mittonystark if you wanna chat russian tony with me !!!


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